


outside, i lay tongue-tied

by sparksofwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Kissing, Spin the Bottle, Teenage Dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksofwrite/pseuds/sparksofwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And inside I'm confusing myself with these conflicting emotions, I'm on the brink of a new commotion. (In which closets are dark places, and seven minutes is just enough time for an epiphany.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	outside, i lay tongue-tied

**Author's Note:**

> Don't even look at me.
> 
> Song for this fic: "Loco Commotion" - PlayRadioPlay!

Rule one: Everyone spins at least once.

Rule two: No re-spins are allowed.

Rule three: If you're comfortable kissing in front of everyone, you only have to do it once.

Rule four: If you don't want to kiss in front of everyone, the two of you can get into the closet, but you have to stay there for seven minutes.

It's raining hard outside as Sasha spins first, the party and game having been her idea. Her kiss with Connie is amiable and giggly, the two of them standing in the middle of the circle, Connie leaning up to meet her at the mouth. They break apart smiling, flushed.

Christa takes a glance around the circle. Mikasa is looking nervously between Eren and Annie, and Christa can guess that she's trying to will them not to land on each other. Eren is arguing with Jean over whose turn is next— they're sitting on either side of Sasha's spot on the ground. Marco and Armin are trying to convince them to play rock-paper-scissors for the chance not to spin next. Annie looks bored, as usual, and Reiner and Bertholdt are sitting back down from refilling their cups two minutes ago. There's a tall, freckled girl Christa only met a few hours ago trying to subtly put a stick of gum in her mouth— she's Bertholdt's cousin or something who just moved here, Sasha must have said it would be okay to invite her. In the end, she's the one who notices Christa's gaze. She breaks it a half-second later, flushing slightly through tanned skin.

Christa smiles encouragingly, it's not like she isn't nervous too, but the girl has already looked away, busying herself with cracking her knuckles. Her nails are bitten and bleeding and painted with some kind of green or blue; they're chipped, and it's hard to tell in the dim light. She listens to the rain pound the roof as Jean and Eren go from one game to best two out of three to best three out of five.

Eren finally loses rock-paper-scissors and spins next, landing on Mikasa. With a bit of grumbling, he gives her a rather chaste peck on the lips, but both of them are bright red when they pull away. Mikasa pulls her scarf over her mouth and nose. Eren puts his face in his hands.

Armin spins and lands on Annie, who stands, grabs him by the back of the shirt to pull him up, and drags him into the closet amid the laughter of most of the group. Bertholdt's cousin isn't familiar enough to be privy to the joke— that Armin and Annie have had unresolved sexual tension for years— and Christa is too nervous at the fact that it will be her turn next.

She takes Armin and Annie's seven minutes to reflect on every shitty decision she's ever made, ending with the decision to come to this party. She doesn't know Sasha terribly well, but they've been trying to talk more and Sasha was nice enough to invite her. Christa doesn't have all that many good friends— she really can't afford to turn down kindness where she sees it. But as the closet door opens and Armin stumbles out, Annie calmly striding behind, her stomach threatens to escape through her mouth.

Armin is touching his face as he sits down next to her, as if trying to feel whether he's still blushing. Annie sits, smoothing her skirt over her neon orange tights, pushing the empty Coke bottle expectantly in Christa's direction with her foot. "Your turn," she says, as if Christa isn't aware.

She nods quickly, taking the bottle in her hand. She hopes no one notices the way her hand shakes as she spins it, hard enough that it skips across the floor, but not hard enough that she has to spin again. A clap of thunder accents her dread nicely.

As it slows, she stares at her lap, tries to think of who she would be comfortable kissing in this group. Armin is nice enough, she thinks. Reiner apparently has a bit of a crush on her. Bertholdt, being the height that he is, would probably be uncomfortable to kiss. Marco is cute, and Jean and Eren are… special in their own ways. None of the boys are explicitly unattractive, not at all. Why does it feel like she has the stomach flu all of a sudden?

"U-uh," Eren stammers, prompting Christa to look up. She thinks:  _Shit._

Bertholdt's cousin is officially bright red with eyes wide, hugging herself as she avoids Christa's eyes. The traitorous bottle sits still between them, pointing in her direction.

"We didn't think this through," Jean says mournfully.

"No re-spins, though," Annie reminds them all.

"It's okay." Bertholdt's voice is half-awkward, half-reassuring. He puts a hand on his cousin's shoulder, smiles at her like he knows something the rest of them don't. She offers him a watery smile back.

"…Do you guys want to use the closet, then?" Sasha catches on faster than the others. Christa finds herself nodding, not considering that she's answering for this other girl. She doesn't care, really.

"Wait," Jean says as they both stand up. "So they're going to kiss anyway?"

"Jean, shut up," Marco mutters. Christa doesn't hear the rest of their conversation. She walks numbly to the closet and steps inside. Bertholdt's cousin is close behind, leaving the whispers and awkwardness.

As the door closes behind them, Christa becomes aware of how packed the closet already is with clothes and junk. It forces her to stand jammed between a large box and Bertholdt's cousin, who is pressed against the wall. They stare at their shoes, illuminated by the light from under the door.

Neither of them speaks, neither of them breathes. Seven minutes is four hundred and twenty seconds. It's two hundred and ten inhale-exhales, one hundred and forty blinks of the eye, and probably eight hundred and forty heartbeats at least, under these circumstances.

"What's your name again?" Christa finds herself denting the silence with an awkward question.

"Ymir." Her voice is low, at a wavering, breathy whisper. "You're Christa?"

"Yeah."

Ymir smells sharply like cinnamon from the gum she was chewing— Christa can't hear it squeaking between her jaws anymore, so she must have swallowed it. Christa probably smells like fading antiperspirant and strawberry body wash. The spice from Ymir's breath keeps her grounded, in the moment, and she's only just noticed how slowly Ymir is breathing when she speaks.

"I'm really sorry," Ymir says.

"What for?" Christa tilts her neck up uselessly. It's pitch-dark in the closet; there's no seeing anything.

She feels Ymir's arm gesture vaguely around. "I mean— this must be really uncomfortable for a straight girl."

Christa's lips part. In just a sentence, she's put a million questions into Christa's mind. Does that mean you're not uncomfortable? Does that mean you're not straight? What makes you think I'm straight? Am I even straight? I've never thought about it before.

"Uh," is all she manages to say.

"We can just say we kissed and that's it," Ymir compromises. "N-no problem."

A few different epiphanies hit Christa at once.

Epiphany one: Ymir isn't straight.

Epiphany two: She wouldn't mind kissing me, but she's being considerate of my feelings.

Epiphany three: Ymir is under the impression that I'm straight and I don't want to kiss her.

Epiphany four: I kind of really want to at least try kissing her.

"I'm really sorry," Christa says.

"Huh? Why?" Ymir asks as Christa's hands feel around for her face. Ymir jumps when Christa's sweaty palms find her cheeks, and gasps as Christa leans up, pulling her head down.

They don't kiss immediately because Christa can't find Ymir's lips. Her thumb runs over the lower half of Ymir's face. "For this," she says absently. She can feel warm breath on her fingers, then on her lips, then none at all as she presses their mouths together.

Her first thought is:  _Holy shit._

Ymir responds with a muffled "mmph"— Christa can't tell if it's a noise of protest or a moan until she feels Ymir's hand on the back of her head and her lips moving with hers. There's a sort of thrill in her lower stomach and everything around them seems quiet, with only the weird little kissing sounds audible. She kisses Ymir again, and again.

The light from under the door flickers out suddenly. The teenagers in the next room begin to scream, almost prompting Christa to pull away from Ymir, but she notices something. Ymir's lips are getting wetter. She scarcely has time to wonder why when Ymir's mouth opens.

"Mmph." Christa feels herself lock up, and Ymir pulls away instantly.

"No?" She guesses with concern. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay," Christa insists. "You— you just surprised me. Here," she says, trying to reel Ymir back in. "Do that again."

She feels Ymir smile against her lips, and as it turns out, tongues are really fucking squishy and slippery. Christa notes that she's never been more turned on in her life— her lower stomach twists in a manner unbecoming of a straight girl. Straight girl. Straight. She tries to picture stubble and solid muscles and flat chests, but it doesn't do anything for her, and the image fades, leaving only Ymir's beautiful mouth and soft skin and rounded chest pressing Christa's. It feels better. It feels right.

It doesn't take much for her to throw out the concept of straight. She was never all that attached to the idea of a boyfriend anyway.

She's starting to notice saliva outside her mouth— Christa's not very good at this, is she, and the thought occurs to her that they just need more practice— when someone knocks, over the commotion in the other room.

"It's been seven minutes." Sasha's voice is muffled by the door, but her discomfort is audible. "And the power just went out. Sorry."

They break apart. Only when Christa's face heats up does she realize her seven-minutes-ago embarrassed blush had disappeared.

They giggle for a second, quiet, only tangible through their interrupted breathing and shaking shoulders. "Thanks," Ymir whispers.

Christa hugs her tightly. "Thanks back," she says against her chest.

"You can tell them you said 'no homo' first," the taller girl offers, and Christa bursts into giggles, this time audible. They hug one last time.

"If it's okay," she says to Ymir, turning the doorknob, "I might just tell them the truth."


End file.
